Chicken Noodle
by theatre-gypsy
Summary: And even after all this, she's still willing to go crawling back. A soup-related drabble series.
1. Bruce

**Disclaimer: Not mine. If it was, it would have soup. And dinosaurs.**

**A/N: This may turn into something more. It may not. Now shoo. Go read and get some soup.**

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"Sir, you really should stay in tonight."

"Crime won't take a night off Alfred, so neither should I."

"You've told me this several times already, Master Bruce, but my point still stands."

"Alfred, it was just a _sneeze_."

"So your temperature is usually one hundred and three, then?"

Bruce and Alfred lock eyes in an intense battle of will.

Then Alfred straightens his tie as Bruce doubles over in a coughing fit and moves to sit in a chair.

"One day, Alfred," Bruce says, "One day I'll win."

Alfred hands him a bowl of soup, "Of course, sir. Of course."


	2. Jonathan

**A/N: Using only one hundred words is much more difficult than I originally thought it would be.**

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Jonathan Crane had learned very quickly that it was uncomfortable to sneeze in a straight jacket. It threw off his balance, and he had ended up on the floor more than once.

He had contemplated shouting for a tissue, but he doubted the orderlies would care.

Or, even worse, the orderlies _would_ care. They would care just enough to give him a nice kick to the sternum. Now _that_ would make for uncomfortable sneezing.

Jonathan sneezed again, and as he lay on the concrete with an aching head, he would have given anything for a hot bowl of chicken noodle.


	3. James

**A/N: I still can't believe I've managed to start a soup-related drabble series. It's a little strange. **

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Commissioner James Gordon gazes blankly at the slaughtered family. He can still smell the blood and hear the screams. It's like this every day; it's part of the job.

Then he smells the soup still on the stove and sees a tiny hand peeking out from a body bag and all of a sudden, it's just too much. He feels sick.

He thoroughly believes that it won't be a bullet that kills him, but the images that dance behind his eyelids when he blinks.

But they don't tonight, so he leaves the building to brave the harsh Gotham winter outside.


	4. A Beginning

**A/N: This takes place in Arkham. I just couldn't help myself. More to come soon.**

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Harleen Quinzel rubbed her eyes harshly, smudging her eyeliner, "You drowned him in his own _soup_?"

"Well, he should have been wearing his _floaties_."

He wiggled his fingers a little, and at that moment the Joker saw it. A ghost of a smile playing on her mouth. He leaned as far forward as the restraints would allow. Her lids were black, her lips were crimson, and her unruly hair spoke of the many sleepless nights he had caused. There were stars burning in her eyes just waiting to supernova.

"Ya know what, _Har_ley? I _really_ like that look on you."


	5. The Joker

**A/N: The next one will probably be the last one. Until then, enjoy.**

Harley's being domestic again. It annoys him. He scowls; the quiet in the apartment is only intensifying his black mood.

There's a storm building in his blood. He needs to be alone to plot and to think. He needs to make his mind stop churning with thoughts of fire and death and golden apples.

He just needs an outlet.

Then there's lightning in his veins, electricity contracting his muscles violently. His body pulses with the burst of fury and his bowl of soup goes across the table and into Harley's face.

He throws her out the window for good measure.


	6. Harley

**A/N: This kind of goes with the last chapter. Thanks for reading, and please review!**

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Harley is wet and cold and there are splinters of glass in her skin. She trips over herself on her way across the snow-covered street, but that's okay because her Puddin' isn't here to see her mistake.

The night air smells of the blood she has spilt, and Harley wonders why she still bothers with this.

When frostbite starts to settle in, she's too preoccupied with how empty she feels without him to notice. Eventually she convinces herself she deserved it. The smell of the soup he threw at her makes her cry.

Things will be better in the morning.


End file.
